WHO would wish back the Saints upon our rough Wearisome road? Wish back a breathless soul Just at the goal? My soul, praise God For all dear souls which have enough. I would not fetch one back to hope with me A hope deferred, To taste a cup that slips From thirsting lips: -- Hath he not heard And seen what was to hear and see? How could I stand to answer the rebuke If one should say: 'O friend of little faith, Good was my death, And good my day Of rest, and good the sleep I took'? |